


In the Still of the Night

by River9Noble



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Actual rape itself not graphically described but the aftermath is quite graphic, Alfred Pennyworth is a Saint, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Isn't the Rapist, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Graphic Description, Healed Harleen Quinzel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Protective Bruce Wayne, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River9Noble/pseuds/River9Noble
Summary: The joke's on Joker. He accidentally knocks Harley back to sanity by means of a vicious assault. She runs to the one man she knows can protect her. **Many potential triggers. Complete list at beginning of story.** This is a graphic story, reader be warned, but it does have a happy ending.
Relationships: Harleen Quinzel/Bruce Wayne, Past Harleen Quinzel/Joker (DCU)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 233
Collections: Focus on Female Characters





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **TRIGGER WARNINGS** Rape (not by Bruce). Childhood Sexual Abuse. Graphic Violence. Graphic Sexual Violence. Post-Rape GYN Exam and medical treatment (not kinky, treated as traumatic). A flashback of the present-day attack and past childhood sexual abuse is in Chapter 1 in italics, I highly recommend skipping it if you need to. The rest of the story is the aftercare and aftermath but is also graphic.
> 
> This is a work of fiction. I am not a medical professional or legal expert. While I tried to make those details realistic, they are in no way intended to be taken as true to life, although certain details may perhaps be accurate representations.
> 
> This story was inspired by "The Princess and the Bat" by The Kat Valentine on FFN. Her story is unfinished but still so adorably worth the read as a collection of scenes. She writes Harley as she is in the animated universe (i.e., cheerfully insane) … I interpreted Harley as post-traumatized and dissociative through a darker lens because that's how I like to write her. I LOVE the fluffy version, though, so go read it! Her story is SO. CUTE. And mine is SO. DARK. It was a therapeutic write for me. I haven't exactly been through all of these situations, but some similar ones in some respects. My story does have a happy ending though, because I only write happy endings.

Harley parked the stolen car a block from Wayne Manor. She hadn't hotwired a car since she was a teenager; it was funny the things that your brain never forgot how to do. Groaning as she got out of the car, she began gingerly walking towards her destination.

_One foot in front of the other, Harley. You can do it_ , she thought to herself.

_Competitors don't give up. Push through the pain._ _Are you a winner or a loser, Harleen?_ A harsher voice in her brain refused to let her stop, even though her pelvis was on fire and her eye was swollen and her body beaten and cut.

_This is the way we go to school, go to school, go to school…_ A childish song tripped through her mind and Harley felt a swirl of energy trying to cheer her up and get her to the finish line.

_I'll be safe there,_ Harley thought. _Just get there and then you can collapse._

The block should have taken less than thirty seconds for the fit Harley Quinn to scamper down to the gates of Wayne Manor. Instead, the minutes seemed to crawl by as Harley shuffled along, gritting her teeth through the pain, her destination seeming just as far ahead of her every time she raised her eyes hopefully to see if she was close.

Finally, thankfully, Harley made it to the locked gate. She looked for a call box and cursed when she realized there wasn't one. _Seriously?_ She thought to herself. _Somebody doesn't want uninvited guests,_ she thought bitterly, and yeah, she got it; she probably wouldn't have a call box either in Bruce's position, but she had to get in.

Harley heaved out a huge sigh as she looked up at the twelve foot tall gate. Tears pricked her eyes but she wiped them away with determination, rubbing her nose on her sleeve for good measure. Her right hand was soaked with blood from her jumpsuit where she had shrugged out of it and balled it against the deep jagged gash in her abdomen, so she wiped it in her hair to get it as dry as possible.

_Pretend it's the Olympics,_ she thought to herself. _Our final competitor on the gate climb… Harleeeeeeeey Quinn!_

With a determined grunt, Harley blocked out everything else from her mind. The pain. The cuts. The bruises. The bleeding. The rapes. She grabbed the vertical bars as high as she could with both hands and started to climb, using her feet to support her as best she could. Her mind went white and there was no more Harley, no more Joker, no more father, no more Wayne Manor. There was just one hand over the other, pulling her up by sheer upper body strength.

When she got to the top of the gate, Harley swung her left leg over first, then her right, refusing to acknowledge the new blood that she felt gushing out of her cut or the agonizing fire that ripped through her lady parts. She whimpered, but she didn't hear it. Having crossed over, Harley carefully lowered herself hand by hand down the bars instead of jumping, knowing she wouldn't be able to land without breaking something in the condition she was in.

Finally, finally, her feet hit the ground, but Harley refused to stop. Because if she thought making it down the block was bad, now she had to get down the fancy-ass long driveway to the house. Harley forced her feet to go even faster than they had on the street, knowing that if she collapsed without getting help she might bleed out. She had no idea how bad the one cut was.

_Make it a game!_ her childish inner voice said. _The driveway is lava. RUN!_ Harley took off like she was running towards the pummel horse for a vault, abruptly stumbling up the steps of the house before she had time to think. She looked for a doorbell, a knocker, a buzzer, an intercom - there had to be something, right? Didn't they ever get deliveries?

Apparently not. Growling in frustration, Harley scanned the porch and found a sturdy looking metal planter. She picked it up and slammed it into the antique oval-shaped glass window of the door. Hard. And it bounced off and almost ricocheted back into her.

Harley screamed and cursed in frustration. Of _course_ the Bat had bullet-proof glass. Of course he did. That sonofabitch. Harley started screaming louder and picked up the vase again, slamming the wood of the door this time, again and again, as loud as she could. Maybe there was an alarm system she could trigger.

Harley's desperation gave her strength and she kept screaming like a banshee while trying to raise the dead with her hefty pounding on the door. Finally, lights flickered on somewhere a ways back from the door and a dark silhouette approached. Harley dropped the vase and pounded on the glass with the flat of her hand, pressing her face up to it so Bats could see who it was.

The porch and foyer lights flicked on simultaneously and then he was standing on the other side of the glass, staring at her in shock.

"Bats, help me! Please, I need help," Harley yelled through the door, not sure how well her voice would carry. Bruce Wayne's eyes widened for a minute, but then he was unlocking the door and opening it. Harley gratefully stumbled in, almost falling but catching herself on him.

Bruce stared at her in horror. She had taken one arm out of her jumpsuit which she was now trying to use again to staunch the heavily bleeding wound in her stomach. One eye was blackened and swollen shut. Her nose looked like it was broken. Her jaw and uncovered arm had multiple bruises and, most gut-wrenching of all - Bruce had to swallow and look away, because the crotch of her jumpsuit had been cut open and was soaked with blood, which was apparently still dripping down her legs.

"Harley?" Bruce said gently, because however much she annoyed him when she was running around with the Joker, he'd never really blamed her for her Joker-induced psychosis. And seeing her now like this - his Bat-brain did wonder for a second if it could be a trap, but he immediately dismissed the thought. She was hurt. Badly. And she'd undoubtedly made her injuries worse in getting past the gate and trying to wake him up.

"Bats, please, I need you to protect me from him," Harley said, looking up at him as she hung on to his chest, propping herself up. Bruce's arm automatically went around her back to help her stand. He was most worried about the gash. It looked deep and it could have punctured some organs. He frowned. He and Alfred were more than capable of patching up even moderate injuries, but thanks to his armor he'd never received a deep cut like this.

He almost didn't register what Harley was calling him. "I can't go to Arkham," Harley was pleading with him. "He'll get to me there. Please, Bats, please, I need to stay here with ya." Bruce flicked his eyes to hers.

"I'm not Batman," he said, "but I can help you with your injuries and get you to the hospital."

"I can't _go_ to the hospital," Harley hissed. "You know damn well he'll come right in and take me back. And I can't go back, Bats, I can't. Please," she said, her face crumpling up as she began to cry. Bruce sighed.

"Let's go take a look at that cut first and then we'll talk about it," he said. He frowned as he looked at her. "Can you walk?" he asked her with concern.

"Not so good," she mumbled. Bruce gently lifted her in his arms. Harley lay there limply as he walked, her face starting to take on a gray pallor. He carried her upstairs to where a worried Alfred was standing, waiting to hear the cause of the disturbance that had triggered the alarms.

"Oh, my word!" Alfred exclaimed, although whether it was from the shock of seeing Harley in the first place or her abused state, Bruce couldn't say.

"Go reset the alarm system, Alfred, please, and check if there's anything on the rest of the cameras," Bruce said to him. "And then come find me."

"Of course, sir," Alfred said, hurrying down the stairs to secure the mansion once again.

Having made it to his bathroom with Harley, Bruce gently set her down on the toilet lid. He hesitated. "Would you like to sit on a pillow?" he asked her, embarrassed to have to address her obvious sexual assault but at the same time, determined to help as best as he could.

"Yes, please," Harley said tiredly, shutting her eyes as she slumped backwards. Bruce returned seconds later with a big fluffy one from his bed and he helped her stand up again and get resettled with it under her. She sniffed as tears started to trickle down her cheeks but she didn't say anything.

"Can we take your other arm out of the jumpsuit?" Bruce asked her. "So I can get a better look at that cut?" Harley nodded with her eyes closed but made no move to do it so Bruce gently slid it down her left arm and peeled the jumpsuit down to her hips.

"Oh, shit," he said, realizing that her bra was cups built into the suit and that she was now naked from the waist up. He peeled his t-shirt off and popped it over her head, threading her arms through it. Harley opened her eyes in surprise and met the Bat's which were surprisingly gentle and concerned.

"Thank you," she whispered. Bruce just nodded and lifted the hem of the shirt up a little bit to see the cut.

"I'm worried about internal damage from this," he said to her, frowning. "We really need a doctor to see it."

"I don't think a doctor could tell just by looking," Harley mumbled. "Probably need an MRI. But I can't go to the hospital, Bats, I'd rather die than let him get me again," she said in a stronger voice, despite her pain. Bruce sighed.

"Ok, I can appreciate that," he said, standing to get gauze and alcohol and the suture kit from his well-stocked medicine cabinet. "But we need to get it checked out. Let me stitch this up temporarily and I'll have Alfred make some calls; we'll find a private imaging center to scan it tonight." Harley chuckled quietly despite her pain.

"Must be nice to be so damn rich," she said with a hint of a smile.

"It has its perks," Bruce said back. "This is going to hurt," he added as he prepped the alcohol and hydrogen peroxide to clean her cut.

"Trust me," Harley muttered, "it ain't gonna have nothin' on what I been through tonight," she said bitterly. Bruce met her eyes with empathy before starting to clean the cut out. Harley hissed but otherwise didn't make any noise, although she shut her eyes again. Technically her eye, since the one was so swollen that she wasn't able to open it.

"Ok," Bruce said a minute later. "I'm going to give you a few shots of topical analgesic before I sew the wound shut," he said.

"But you ain't Batman," Harley grinned at him cheekily, peeking out from her eyelid again. Bruce sighed.

"What makes you think I'm Batman?" he asked her as he began administering the injections.

"Well, not you personally, but he's in there," Harley said. "Ain't ya, Bats!" she yelled a little louder, causing Bruce to jump.

"Shit, Harley!" he said in annoyance. "Do you want me to stab the wrong place?"

"There ya are, ya cranky bastard," Harley said with contentment. "Took ya long enough to come out." Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, but truth be told, his easy-going Bruce Wayne demeanor had in fact shifted into the hardcore, tense watchfulness of Batman. He gave her a hard look but Harley just giggled.

"You can't fool me, Batsy," she said cheerfully as he looked back down to give her another shot. "You think we're gonna make it?" she asked him, but she didn't sound too concerned. "Or am I gonna die?"

"You made it all the way here," he said to her. "And over the gate. So I doubt this is life-threatening. But it needs to be checked out."

"Yeah, yeah," Harley said playfully. "Big bad Batsy doesn't have an MRI down in the BatCave?"

"Unfortunately, no," Bats growled at her, giving up on denying the truth. Who knew how Harley had figured it out - well, he _would_ get that information out of her later - but she clearly had no doubts and continuing to deny his identity to her felt too pointless given the fact that he had already decided by this point to help her. It's not like she was wrong about his identity, after all, and dammit, he wasn't going to just turn her away instead of protecting her when she was so beat up and desperate. And had remarkably managed to get herself to him despite her terrible condition.

"Maybe you should get one," Harley was saying as Bruce gently tapped her skin with a needle to see if the pain-killer had taken effect yet.

"Can you feel that?" he asked her.

"What?" Harley asked him as he continued to poke.

"Never mind," Bruce said as he started to stitch her wound up. Alfred came to the doorway as he worked.

"All cameras are clear, sir, no sign of any other intruders," he reported to Bruce.

"Good," Bruce grunted. "We need an MRI of her wound tonight at a private imaging center," he said to Alfred. "Say it's for a friend who was sexually assaulted and doesn't want to go to the police because she knows the perp and is scared of him."

"Yes, sir," Alfred said, but his voice was laced with pain and sympathy as the extent of Harley's situation began to sink in to him.

"I'm gonna need to see a GYN, too," Harley muttered, casting her good eye down in shame. "Mistah - ah - the Joker, um, he cut me up pretty bad," she ended in a pained whisper. Bruce swore and gently gripped her knee in sympathy.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Thanks," Harley murmured, bravely meeting his eyes for a second before bashfully looking away again. Alfred cleared his throat and his voice sounded thick when he spoke.

"I shall make all the arrangements, Miss Harley, and I daresay without your makeup on, you shall be unrecognizable," he said. Harley nodded.

"Good," she said. Bruce didn't say it, but even with her make-up, Harley was practically unrecognizable due to the number of injuries on her face. He tightened his jaw and concentrated on finishing her sutures as Alfred walked off to spend the billionaire's money on scheduling middle-of-the-night private medical appointments.

"All done," Bruce said a minute later, snipping off the ends of the suture threads.

"Thanks," Harley said genuinely, meeting his eyes again. Bruce stood to put the materials away and looked over at her.

"I know you need to wash your face," he said to her, "and maybe wash up a little bit. I wouldn't take a shower and get those sutures wet, though, so just use a washcloth. I'll get you some clean ones and a towel," he said, "and some gym pants or boxers," he added. "Hopefully something will fit."

"Thanks, Bruce," Harley said again, surprising him by reaching her hand out to him. He took it in his and she squeezed it tight.

"You're welcome," he said to her. "You'll tell me later what happened?" She nodded, blinking away some tears. "Good," he said. "I'll get what you need," he added, and walked out of the bathroom.

Harley stayed seated on the pillow on the toilet lid, starting to shake as more tears began to flow. She was so tired, so _damn_ tired and she'd been trapped in this nightmare for _so_ long - God, she wasn't even sure what year it was. The sobs came louder as she thought back to earlier that night.

" _Happy birthday, Harleyyy!" The Joker had cooed, presenting her with a large, beautifully wrapped gift._

" _Why, Mistah J! I didn't even know it was my birthday!" Harley had said happily, pleased and excited. Until she opened the gift. Which was a spring-loaded boxing glove that punched her squarely in the nose, breaking it on contact._

_Harley had sat stunned for a minute before beginning to wail as the Joker's cackling cruel laughter filled the room._

" _Oh, Harley, did you get a boo-boo?" he asked her. "Let Daddy kiss it all better," he said, moving to touch her, and then Harley wasn't in the room with him anymore, she was back in her bedroom on a birthday night so, so long ago, hearing her father's voice in the darkness._

" _Daddy has a special birthday present for his little girl…" She had shrieked when Joker tried to kiss her, landing a few good punches that enraged him…_

"Harley? Harley?" Bruce's concerned voice brought her back to the present and her eyes came back into focus as she turned her face towards him with tears running down her cheeks as she sobbed. "It's ok," Bruce said somewhat awkwardly as he set the clothes and towel down and ran a washcloth under warm water. "You're safe now," he added.

He knelt down next to her as she continued to cry and gently began to wipe her makeup off. "Close your eyes," he instructed as he swiped the cloth over her good eyelid first, before gingerly dabbing at her swollen eye which caused her to cry harder. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I have to get the makeup off," he said, standing to rinse the washcloth and re-wet it before dabbing again.

Despite Harley's sobs, Bruce carried on cleaning her face until he was sure that all traces of Harley Quinn were gone. What remained was a devastatingly battered woman's face that squeezed at his heartstrings in a way that he was most unused to feeling. Bruce lightly stroked her hair back from her face with one of his hands.

"Do you want to wash up anywhere else?" he asked her, not wanting to come right out and ask in so many words if she wanted to wash the Joker off of her. Harley sighed and nodded.

"I can do it," she said brokenly. She managed to stop sobbing but she seemed to give up on trying to stop the tears from quietly leaking out of her eyes.

"Ok," Bruce answered her, standing up first and then helping her up. "I'll wait outside the door if you need anything," he said to her and Harley nodded at him.

"Thanks," she whispered again, feeling like the rest of her life might be consumed with repeating that one word to Bruce - and then wondering if that would be so bad. _I'm safe,_ she thought to herself, kicking off her shoes and peeling off the rest of her jumpsuit once he was outside the door as she prepared to wash up. _Ain't no way Mistah J can catch me as long as I stick with the Bat_ , she reassured herself, taking a deep breath before daring to look at her face in the mirror, which caused her to shudder in horror.

_It ain't that bad,_ her cheerful bubble-gum poppin' voice said in her head.

_Um, it's totally that bad,_ another voice dissented.

_If it got us away from him, it was worth it,_ a third voice claimed strongly.

Harley sighed, picking up the second washcloth and soaping it up under warm water.

_Harley Quinn?_ she asked her playful part inside her head.

_Yeah?_ she answered with a distinctive crack of gum.

_Don't ever shut the rest of us out like that again, ok?_ Harley said to herself seriously as she began washing herself, gritting her teeth as the soapy water stung her cuts.

_Why not?_ playful Harley asked.

_Look in the mirror,_ the angry part snarked at her. Pigtailed Harley's lips quivered.

_But… but… that ain't MY fault!_ she insisted. _Are ya mad at me?_ Her lower lip jutted out like a sad puppy's.

Her question was met with an internal growl which caused external Harley to intervene.

_Hey! HEY!_ she yelled across the angry chorus of voices in her brain. _It's not her fault. This time. But next time, Harley Quinn, do not shut us all out again. Ok? It's dangerous and it's not fair to the rest of us._

_I didn't know,_ bubble-gum Harley said in a tiny voice.

_It wasn't your fault,_ a more compassionate voice said again to her. _Mistah J told you to do it and he made you trust him. But from now on, you just listen to us, Harley Quinn, ok? Nobody else._

_Ok,_ Harley whimpered. External Harley sighed.

_Come here, have a hug_ , she said, opening her arms wide in her mind to embrace her usually effusively optimistic part. She couldn't stand seeing her look so down, and it really wasn't her fault that the Joker had found her and manipulated her so badly, but… Harley realized she was blinking away more tears, not that she was sure if she'd ever stopped crying.

She had managed to finish cleaning up as best as she could, though, so after an excruciatingly painful peeing experience, she pulled on the track pants that Bruce had brought her. He was much taller than her, and although super fit much bigger in the waist, but Harley pulled the drawstring tight and tied it and painfully lifted her foot on her uninjured side to the toilet to roll up the pants. The slick material promptly unrolled and she sighed. Hauling the pants up, she padded to the door and opened it to see Bruce leaning against the wall outside.

"I got the waist tied ok," Harley said to him, "but the legs won't stay cuffed." Bruce glanced at the pants.

"Let's just cut them," he said. "Hang on," he added, moving to his nightstand to pull out a large knife.

"Holy shit, Bats, ya just keep that shit lyin' around?" Harley said to him, her eyes bugging out. Bruce just grunted at her but there was a little smile in his eyes. He carefully cut around the bottom of each pants leg so that the pants hit her mid-ankle.

"Thanks," Harley sighed again. "I feel like I'm never gonna stop saying that to you, Bats," she added.

"It's ok," Bruce said to her, sheathing his knife. "I'm glad I can help," he added, returning it to the drawer. Alfred came back to the bedroom, knocking on the doorframe.

"Master Bruce, Miss Harley," he said. "We will get the MRI first, the doctor will meet us there in twenty minutes. It's across town, so we should leave now," Alfred said. "And we'll proceed from there to the GYN," he finished.

"Thank you, Alfred," Harley said sincerely.

"You are most welcome, Miss Harley," Alfred answered her. "I am afraid that we do not have any footwear in the house that would fit you," he said apologetically, looking at her bare feet.

"Why would you?" Harley responded gently. But she wrinkled her nose. "I think maybe I'll just go barefoot," she said. "I don't want to put the ones I have back on."

"Wear some socks," Bruce said, moving to his dresser to pull out a pair. "And Alfred can drop us right at the door."

"Ok," Harley said, moving to sit on Bruce's bed to put them on. She reached out a hand for them, but Bruce surprised her by kneeling and putting them on her himself.

"You'll rip your stitches," he said to her by way of explanation when she gave him a curious look. She gave him a little smile which he returned as he looked up at her.

"I shall go pull the car around, Master Bruce," Alfred said, leaving the room.

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce called after him. As he stood, he said to Harley, "I'll carry you downstairs."

"Oh," said Harley, a little surprised again but not complaining. She hated to be so dependent, but she felt like hell. Bruce bent and scooped her up from the bed and Harley leaned into his chest as he held her.

"You're a good savior," she said to him as he carried her down the stairs. Bruce quirked his eyebrow up at that.

"I _am_ a superhero," he pointed out to her dryly.

"Yeah, but you're the Dark Knight," Harley argued. "Not Superman." Bruce chuckled.

"Don't tell him," he said. "He'll never let me live down his positive impact on my life." Harley giggled.

"Yeah, but he'd be so _happy_ about it. He wouldn't be rubbing your face in it."

"I know," Bruce groaned. "And that's so much worse." He set her down to walk her out of the mansion, pulling the door shut behind him.

"How do you get back in?" Harley asked him, seeing that he didn't lock the door.

"It's thumbprint controlled," Bruce said. "On the door handle. And a retina scanner hidden in the glass."

"Damn, Bats," Harley grinned. "You don't mess around."

"Didn't stop you from getting to me, though," Bruce pointed out with a wry grin.

"Well," Harley said thoughtfully, "I am Harley Quinn. I tend to get what I want."

"I'm noticing that," Bruce said, but not meanly. Alfred pulled up with the car and stepped out to open the back door. Bruce picked Harley up again and carried her down the few steps to the driveway, gently placing her into the back seat. Alfred shut the door behind her and Bruce came around to the other side to join her in the back. He leaned over to buckle her seatbelt for her before settling himself on his side of the car.

In the dark moonlight, Harley quietly reached out her hand for his across the seat. Bruce didn't even hesitate to hold it.


	2. Chapter 2

Dr. Morgan met Bruce and Harley at the door to his office when Alfred pulled up. The MRI had thankfully revealed no serious internal injuries but it was the GYN exam that Harley was really dreading and she shook as Bruce wrapped a supportive arm around her waist and helped her walk inside.

"Doctor," Bruce said, "I appreciate you coming out tonight." He didn't add that Dr. Morgan was probably being paid enough for his time to buy himself a summer home in the south of France, but he was genuinely grateful and what was the point of being rich if you couldn't help somebody with it?

"Mr. Wayne," Dr. Morgan said sympathetically, having already been apprised to the situation by Alfred when he agreed to come in. "And, Miss…?"

"Jane," Harley mumbled, nervously gulping. It had never occurred to her that Alfred would find a _male_ GYN for her. _Shit shit shit shit shit -_ she began to cry again, quietly, though, and Bruce gently squeezed her good side a little tighter.

"Miss Jane," the doctor said in a very professional tone of voice, though, "I've already got an exam room set up if you'd like to come back and my nurse Karen will be assisting me tonight." He glanced at Bruce. "She is also bound by HIPAA and confidentiality laws," he said. "It's not procedure to do GYN exams without a female nurse present."

"Of course, thank you," Bruce said, although he really had no fuckin' idea, never having had a serious girlfriend who he would have accompanied to the doctor and medical procedural policy wasn't exactly relevant to his brand of crimefighting.

"Can Bruce come back with me?" Harley asked, her voice shaking as she turned up to look at the Bat, her eyes pleading with him not to send her back there alone.

Dr. Morgan hesitated. "I understand that you only wish a medical exam for injuries and not a rape kit, Miss Jane," he said, "but I do want to make sure that you understand that should you change your mind and wish to prosecute later, it will be almost impossible without the rape kit."

"I don't care," Harley said. "I'm not doin' one."

"That's fine," the doctor answered her, "and in that case, yes, Mr. Wayne may accompany you back." He sighed. "You'd unfortunately be a legal witness at the trial if you were with her during the rape kit collection and could cost her the case due to not being a medical professional," he said to Bruce. "Monstrous legal policy, not allowing women to have a friend present during their exams," he said compassionately. "If you'll follow me to the room," he said gently to Harley. "Take your time," he added, noting her numerous injuries.

He led the way down the hall as Bruce helped Harley slowly limp after him. "You don't mind staying with me?" she whispered to him.

"I don't mind," he whispered back. She gave him a sad smile as they walked into the room where a nurse dressed in scrubs was already waiting.

"This is Karen," Dr. Morgan introduced her. "And this is our patient, Jane and her friend Mr. Wayne."

"Hi," Harley mumbled.

"Hi, Jane," Karen said with so much sympathy in her voice. "We're going to step out and have you get undressed just from the waist down," she said. "And just cover up with this sheet -" she handed Harley the standard ridiculously inadequate paper exam cover that women the world over hate and Harley sighed.

"Ok," she said.

"Mr. Wayne can just let us know when you're ready," Karen said with a soft smile as she and Dr. Morgan exited the room, closing the door behind them.

Harley didn't even bother to try not to cry as she untied her pants and let them fall to the floor. Bruce's t-shirt was big on her and covered her lower area, thankfully for Bruce, since he wasn't sure anymore where to look. Harley glanced at the exam table which seemed too high to comfortably climb up on given her side injury and slight stature.

"Can you help me get up?" she asked Bruce in a shaky voice.

"Sure," he said, reaching under her armpits to lift her up and place her in a sitting position on the edge of the table. He handed her the paper napkin and helped her unfold it over her lap.

"Do you think I need to lie down yet?" she asked Bruce, glancing reluctantly at the stirrups.

"He might need to ask you some questions first," Bruce said wisely. "Might as well let them in?" Harley nodded glumly and Bruce went to get the door for the doctor and his nurse.

"All right, Miss Jane," Dr. Morgan said, coming in and shutting the door behind Karen, despite the emptiness of the rest of the office. Harley felt a little comforted by that and she appreciated that his tone was very matter-of-fact. She'd never seen a male GYN before, she didn't think, and who knows how long it even was since her last exam at this point. She sighed morosely.

"Now, Mr. Pennyworth had indicated on the phone that you may have some internal lacerations," Dr. Morgan said.

"Yes," Harley sniffed.

"What type of item made the lacerations, if you know?" the doctor asked her.

"A knife," Harley muttered. "I don't know what kind. A sharp one," said brokenly, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Bruce moved behind her to wrap an arm around her shoulders, reaching his other hand out to hold one of hers.

"I understand, Miss Jane," Dr. Morgan said kindly. "And I apologize in advance for the intrusiveness of some of these questions. I know they're intensely personal and you've been through a horrific trauma." Harley just nodded.

"And you were also penetrated by a penis?" the doctor asked her. Harley nodded again. "Vaginally?" Another nod. "Anally?" She shook her head no. "Did he use a condom, that you were aware of?" Harley snorted derisively and shook her head no. "Are you on any form of birth control?" Dr. Morgan asked her. Harley hesitated.

"I think… I think I still have the arm implants in," she said. "But I don't remember how long they've been in," she hedged, not planning to admit that she didn't even know how many years had passed since the Joker first took over her mind.

"All right," Dr. Morgan said. "I'm going to give you the morning after pill in that case, to be safe. I have some here in the office," he said.

"Good," Harley muttered in relief. Bruce rubbed her shoulders.

"Now if I can just get you to lie back, Miss Jane, and place your feet in the stirrups," Dr. Morgan said. Harley sighed and laid back. Bruce turned to face her so he wouldn't be staring at her uncovered body and she squeezed his hand tightly in hers.

"I'm here," he said, his steady eyes keeping contact with hers and Harley kept her blue eyes locked on his, feeling like they were the only thing keeping her from screaming.

"Now, Miss Jane, I'm afraid this may be painful," Dr. Morgan said to her as he adjusted his light. "I'm going to insert the speculum first to get a good look at everything, and then I'll do a manual exam. All right?"

"Uh huh," Harley grunted.

"Here's the speculum," the doctor said, sliding it in slowly. Harley hissed in pain even though he was being careful and when he opened it up she whimpered in agony. Her breaths started coming hard and her ears refused to focus on the doctor's words any longer.

Bruce's throat was tight and his eyes hot with unshed tears as he stood there helplessly, gripping Harley's hand and thinking that for the first time in his life, he felt truly powerless. He reached his other hand out and began gently stroking Harley's hair back from her face and rubbing her head.

"You're doing great," he told her as she whimpered.

"It hurts," she said.

"I know," he said futilely, thinking that he never knew until that moment how much his heart could hurt for another person. Sure, he'd cried for himself before, as an orphaned kid. But when had he ever felt so much pain and pity for another human being, he wondered to himself. It wasn't like he ever got emotionally involved with anyone he dated. Hell, he mostly dated shallow models for the mutual convenience of an easy fuck and to keep up appearances as the debonair socialite Bruce Wayne.

"All finished with the speculum," Dr. Morgan said, interrupting his thoughts. "Now for the manual pelvic exam. I'm afraid this may be more painful, Miss Jane," he said regretfully. "I do see multiple interior lacerations although thankfully they seem to have missed your cervix and that is indeed good news for your future child-bearing capacity," he said. "I do need to feel how deep some of the cuts are, though, and I'd like to do a transvaginal ultrasound afterwards to make sure nothing punctured an ovary. We have it here in the office," he added.

"Ok," Harley sniffed.

"I'm afraid I don't want to use lube for the exam," the doctor said, "due to your open wounds. Try to take deep breaths," he said to her. "I'll be as gentle as possible." When he slid his fingers in, Harley _howled_ in pain.

"I know that hurts," the doctor said to her sympathetically. "Deep breaths," he said.

Harley's whole body was convulsing with sobs and the ragged sounds coming out of her throat were breaking Bruce's heart in ways that he hadn't even known he could break. Aside from Alfred, Bruce didn't really have many friends. Sure, he worked with Superman on occasion, but he mostly preferred keeping to himself in Gotham. Truth be told, the man of steel irritated the hell out of him most of the time.

Dick was off in Bludhaven now and he and Dick had struggled to get along once Dick grew up, anyway. Barbara Gordon, his former Batgirl - well, she was just a teenager when she'd worked with him and even though she'd been his crimefighting partner, he didn't really know anything about her life outside of their work together, aside from the fact that she and Dick had dated for awhile.

And out of all of his revolving door sex partners, Catwoman was the only one he'd fucked for longer than a month without calling it quits - and the two of them weren't even monogomous. Hell, some months they'd barely even cross paths on the rooftops and it wasn't like they knew who the other was under the masks. She was a fuck-buddy, but not even really a friend with benefits, considering they didn't spend much time talking when they did hook up.

Bruce sighed and kept rubbing Harley's head as she cried and cried, never letting up for a second on her vise-like grip on his hand. "I'm here," he kept murmuring. "It'll be over soon," he added, not knowing if it was true but figuring it had to be.

Indeed, the actual exam was hardly more than a minute, but to Harley and Bruce, it seemed to take forever. "All done," the doctor said, standing up. "And I do apologize for the discomfort, Miss Jane," he added empathetically. "We'll move on to the sonogram in a moment but why don't you sit up and I'll tell you what I've found so far," he said.

Bruce helped Harley to a sitting position as Karen gently rearranged the ineffective paper napkin over her lap. Harley reached out for Bruce and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug as she tried to stop crying so hard and he hugged her back just as tight, rubbing circles on her back as he tried to soothe her.

"The good news," Dr. Morgan said kindly as he removed and disposed of his gloves, "is that I believe your internal cuts will clot and stop bleeding on their own. I don't want you to take any baths for the next two weeks as you don't want any bacteria to get inside and cause an infection," he said. "Your cervix is intact, and I am very hopeful that your ovaries were not damaged in the attack, but I do want a sonogram just to be sure. I did a swab for a full-range of STI's," he added, "although, unfortunately, HIV can present as a false negative for up to six months from infection date, so you will need to obtain a second test at that time." Harley nodded.

"Some of these lacerations on the exterior are quite a bit deeper," Dr. Morgan said, "and I'll need to do sutures but we'll wait until after the sonogram so as not to disturb them once they're in." Harley whimpered. "Have you had your abdomen wound examined?" Dr. Morgan asked. "I see it's already been sutured."

"We had an MRI done before we came here," Bruce said. "All clear."

"Good," Dr. Morgan said wholeheartedly. "If you'd get dressed again, then nurse Karen will walk you down to do your sonogram," Dr. Morgan said, "and then she'll bring you back here for the sutures."

By the time Bruce walked Harley out of the office almost an hour later, he was shaken and drained worse than after a night of hard fighting on patrol and he knew that his state was nothing compared to Harley's. She had had to put up with a painful internal sonogram, which again showed no serious damage, for which they were grateful, but her inner and outer lacerations had made the procedure painful and then it had to be followed by the sutures which were preceded by analgesic injections into her delicate labia tissue.

Harley was practically dead on her feet by the time Bruce was tucking her back into the car and instead of sitting on the opposite side of the backseat, he sat right next to her and wrapped his arms around her as she laid her head on his shoulder, giving in to the tears more freely now that they were out of the embarrassment of the exam.

"I think ice cream is in order," Alfred said consolingly from the front seat as he drove them home. "What is your favorite flavor, Miss Harley?" he asked her.

"I don't even know anymore," Harley said wearily. "Different part, different flavor," she added in frustration and even though that comment threw Bruce, he decided to ask her about it another time.

"Well," Alfred said, consideringly, "we have a range of flavors back at the manor. Chocolate chip cookie dough, cherry, peanut butter cup -"

"That one," Harley said.

"Excellent choice, Miss Harley," Alfred said congenially. "Master Bruce's favorite."

"Oh yeah?" Harley said, smiling up at Bruce a little bit.

"Yeah," he murmured down to her.

"Do ya have whipped cream, Al?" cheerful Harley called up to him.

"Do I have whipped cream," Alfred scoffed. "Am I English? Am I a butler? Whipped cream, hot fudge _and_ caramel, jimmies, and cherries," he said proudly. "We are the Wayne Manor, Miss Harley," he said in a haughty, grand voice, causing Harley to giggle.

"Well, I came to the right place, then," she said back to him. "For sure," she added more quietly, just for Bruce's ears, squeezing his hand which she hadn't stopped holding. He squeezed it back and snuggled her closer to him under his arm, noticing idly that he'd gone from feeling compassionately concerned when Harley first showed up a bloody mess to now feeling downright protective of her.

He supposed the horror of seeing a woman shriek in pain through a rape exam would do that to anyone with even a slightly decent soul and the fact that it was Harley Quinn, of all people, who he'd always felt sorry for deep down even when on the surface she was pissing him the hell off with Joker, made him even sadder for her.

Joker was everyone's worst nightmare, but to Harley? Bruce couldn't even begin to imagine what her life with him had been like prior to coming to her breaking point that caused her to come to her senses and leave and if tonight's gruesome butchery was any indication, living with Joker must have been pretty damn bad if it took this much to finally tip the scale back towards sanity.

Upon arriving back at Wayne Manor, Bruce carried Harley up to a guest room while Alfred parked the car with promises of ice cream sundaes to be quickly delivered. "My room's right next door if you need anything in the night," Bruce said to her as he sat her down on the bed.

"Ok," Harley said to him, exhausted. "I could use some water," she said.

"Hold on," Bruce said, walking out of the room but surprising her when he came quickly back with a glass of water.

"Is that from the tap?" Harley asked him suspiciously.

"Harley!" Bruce said in not-really-mock horror. "I don't drink Gotham City tap water," he said with a shudder. "I have a water cooler in my room," he added. "Come and help yourself if you need to in the night."

"Thanks," she said, drinking it gratefully, not realizing until then how dehydrated she'd gotten over the course of the night.

"More?" Bruce asked when she chugged it down.

"Yeah," Harley said with a smile. "Thanks." He grinned at her and came back in a moment with two glasses, sitting down in the armchair to drink his.

"What?" Harley asked a minute later, noticing his eyes regarding her softly. Bruce blinked and cleared his throat.

"You're an incredibly brave woman," he said to her with a little rasp in his voice.

"I don't feel brave," Harley muttered. "I haven't stopped crying since I got here."

"But you got here," Bruce said, shaking his head. "I can't even imagine how you managed that."

"I stole a car," Harley said, rubbing her finger on the lip of her glass. "Remembered how to hotwire one, can you believe?" she said. "I parked it a block away, didn't want the cops to find it right outside the gate," she said.

"And then you climbed over the gate to get in," Bruce said for her, "and made it up the driveway, and nearly broke my door down with Alfred's favorite planter."

"It wasn't," Harley said, horrified.

"It was," Alfred said, coming in with a tray of sundaes. "But no harm done, Miss Harley, the planter and the door are both quite sturdy and it was, in fact, a clever method of triggering the alarm," he said as he set the tray down and handed one to Harley first, followed by Bruce and then taking the third for himself.

"Well, you don't have a doorbell," Harley groused. "Or a call box at the gate. _God,_ I wish you'd had a call box," she groaned.

"You know how many prank calls we'd get on it if we did?" Bruce said with a grimace.

"This _is_ Gotham," Alfred sighed in agreement from the second armchair, spooning up some ice cream for himself.

"What's your flavor, Alfred?" Harley asked him, desperately needing a little bit of _normal_ after the nightmare she'd just emerged from.

"Cherries jubilee," Alfred said with satisfaction. "We used to make this homemade as a child with cherries from the local orchard," he reminisced. "Of course nothing can ever quite compete with that memory," he smiled wistfully, "but the nostalgia is there, nonetheless."

Harley smiled at him, feeling calmer for the first time since stumbling across the threshold that night. She was patched up, she didn't have any internal injuries - "Oh, fuck, my nose," she groaned. "It's broken, isn't it?" she asked Bruce. In all of the urgency to get her knifed abdomen stitched up and examined and her GYN exam completed, they hadn't even dealt with her nose. Or black eye, which probably wouldn't be opening anytime soon.

"Looks like," Bruce said. He thought for a minute. "Honestly, Harley, you should probably get a nose job anyway."

"What'sa matta with my nose?" Harley asked imperiously, pouting at Bruce all of a sudden. He raised an eyebrow at her, glancing at Alfred. Harley knew he was picking up on her rapid switches but she was too tired to explain it now. Especially when she'd only just managed to unlock all of her _non-_ HarleyQuinn parts for the first time since Joker had succeeded in locking them all out.

"Joker can recognize it," was all Bruce said as he picked up another spoonful of ice cream. "We can get you wigs or hair dye and colored contacts, and makeup can do a lot with good contouring, but your nose…" He looked at her. "Especially since it's broken anyway," he added. "Be a lot safer to get a new one."

"Oh," Harley said, her offense deflating just as quickly as it had sprung up. "That's a good idea," she said, sighing.

"Not for a few weeks," Bruce said. "Let's get your eye and your other injuries all healed up first."

"Ok," Harley said again with relief, because she felt like she could sleep for two weeks and the thought of being cut up again, even for cosmetic surgery, was too much to handle right now. "This is really good ice cream, Al," she added as she finished scooping up the last bits from Alfred's charmingly old-fashioned crystal ice cream goblet.

"Thank you, Miss Harley," Alfred said. "Or rather, thank Masters Ben and Jerry, to be more precise," he added with a small smile which she returned.

"Do you eat a lot of sundaes?" Harley asked him and Bruce, admiring the goblet which was probably worth a small fortune.

"Only after rough patrols," Bruce admitted.

"So you eat a lot of sundaes," Harley snorted. Bruce grinned.

"Well, what's the point of having all these muscles if not to burn off ice cream calories?" he asked her, licking his spoon. Harley giggled.

"Yes, forget fighting bad guys. That's just an excuse for more ice cream," she teased him.

"You know all my secrets," Bruce quipped, making her smile. "How _did_ you know I was Batman?" he asked suddenly. Harley frowned, sorting through thoughts in her head.

"I saw you at some awards dinner once," she said, thinking. "As Bruce Wayne," she clarified. "Dr. Arkham and me and a bunch of the other psychologists were there, we were all getting recognized for contributing to the city, blah blah blah," she grinned. "And you for being your rich self," she winked with her good eye as she went on.

"But someone from some children's charity was up on the mic telling some terrible story about a kid who they'd helped who was being badly abused, and your table was close to ours and I _saw_ you - you, Batman -" she clarified. "The Bat just flashed out for a minute when she was talking like somebody had thrown a switch," Harley said. "Of course I didn't really know you were Batman back then, I just knew you switched, but later when I was with the Joker and I saw you up close, I knew it was you."

Bruce was frowning. "What do you mean I switched?" he asked her.

"You switched parts," Harley clarified. "Like I do," she added when he still looked confused. "Harley Quinn? The silly one? She's a dissociative identity inside of me. I have a lot of them," Harley said. "It's a trauma disorder. You probably split when your parents got killed," she explained. "Haven't you ever noticed that you're awfully different when you're Batman?"

"I have," Alfred said. "Exactly like you say, Miss Harley, like a light switch is flipped." Bruce looked at him and then back at Harley.

"I don't -" he started to say and then he frowned some more, remembering how Harley had called the Bat forth when he was patching her up in the bathroom and how pleased she'd been when he'd come out and gotten downright cranky with her, even though a little later on he'd felt badly about it when he was feeling more like Bruce Wayne again.

"It's all you, Bruce," Harley said. "A lot of people's splits aren't that dramatic and they're co-conscious, meaning they don't lose time and they can keep track of their thoughts from one part to another pretty easily. I would guess that you're a lot more fluid than me." Bruce looked at her.

"You've seemed a lot more normal tonight," he said thoughtfully, "but sometimes, you're still her," he said, starting to piece it together.

"Yeah," Harley said. "Exactly. Joker managed to find that part during our therapy sessions and convinced her to lock all the other parts out of the system. God," she fumed, "I didn't even know I was losing time in our sessions, that clever bastard," she groaned regretfully. "But it wasn't your fault," she said out loud, looking up and away. She looked at Bruce and Alfred. "She - I - that part of me - feels guilty. For letting Joker use her like that."

"Harley," Bruce said, staring intently _into_ Harley's eyes, clearly talking to the pigtailed-part, "you didn't _let_ Joker do anything. He manipulates and he takes and he outwits and not even I have been able to lock him back up since he got you to let him out. It was not your fault," he told her seriously.

"Really, Brucie?" HarleyQuinn said in a tiny voice.

"Really," he said to her with full assurance.

"Really, Miss Harley," Alfred echoed. "That man is a monstrous psychopath, you're lucky to have escaped from him alive and fully aware again." Harley gave Bruce and Alfred a sweet little smile.

"Aw, guys," she said, clearly happy and feeling relieved. "And you're gonna let me live here from now on?" she asked them.

"Yes," Bruce said with no hesitation, and the look he gave her made Harley drop her eyes for a minute before lifting them back up with a little less glee and a lot more maturity in her gaze.

"Absolutely, Miss Harley, I would like to see anyone try to tear you away from us," Alfred responded.

"You are both my heroes," Harley said affectionately, holding hands out to both of them. Alfred stood to clasp one while Bruce took the other from his chair. Alfred took Harley's ice cream dish off the bed before it tipped and spilled stray drips and then took Bruce's empty one as well, adding them to the tray with his.

"And with that," Alfred said peacefully, "I shall wish you a good night, Miss Harley," he said to her. "My room is one flight up should you require anything during the night, but do wake Master Bruce and ask him to fetch me if that is the case."

"Thank you," Harley said sincerely. "Good night, Alfred," she added as he left.

"I'll let you get some sleep," Bruce told her, standing.

"Can you help me walk to the bathroom first?" Harley asked him, instead getting scooped up and carried.

"A girl could get used to this, you know," she said to him with a smile.

"I can always get you a scooter," Bruce teased her. "And install chair lifts." Harley laughed out loud.

"Get out of here and let me pee," she ordered him as he set her down, shaking her head. Once he left, however, the act itself was again horribly painful as the urine burned her cuts. Harley bit her lip to keep from crying out and tried to dab herself off with a wet washcloth to ease some of the sting once she had finished. When she came back out, Bruce could tell just by looking at her that she was feeling worse.

"Must to be nice to have your pee hole on a little wand," Harley grumbled as Bruce picked her back up.

"A _little_ wand?" Bruce asked her, jaw dropping in offense. "A humongous wand," he sulked to her.

"Yeah, yeah," Harley grinned. "That's what they all say."

"Hmph," Bruce grumped, but his eyes were twinkling as he laid her into bed, pulling the covers up over her and carefully tucking her in. He stroked a hand over her hair. "Sleep tight, Harley," he said gently.

"You, too," she said softly. "And thank you, Bruce," she said one more time. "I mean it, you don't even know -" she started to say.

"I do," he said, wiping her tears away with his thumb. "Or," he sighed, "I can imagine," he said a little grimly.

"Yeah," Harley murmured, taking his hand in hers one last time. "Good night, Batman," she said. "There's no one I'd rather be sleeping next door to," she smiled, and Bruce knew that Harley meant it with all her heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce awoke a few hours later to the sound of ear-piercing screams coming from Harley's room. Not exactly surprised, he was out of bed and next door in seconds.

"Harley," he said, gently shaking her shoulder as he tried to wake her up from her nightmare. "Harley," he said a little more firmly, not wanting to scare her as she woke up, but wanting to get her awake as quickly as possible. Harley was out like a light, though, and still screaming, so Bruce went full-on Batman and yelled " _HARLEY!_ " shaking her roughly at the same time.

Harley came flying awake with a gasp, caught in mid-scream. "I'm here, it's Bruce," he said to her, rubbing her arms. "You were having a nightmare, Harley. You're awake now," he told her as she sat stunned in bed.

"Bruce," Harley said weakly, still gasping in terror from her dream as Bruce sat down facing her on the side of the bed.

"It's ok," he said again, even though, honestly, it really wasn't. Her nightmare wasn't a dark twisted fantasy produced by overactive REM; she was remembering things that had actually happened to her in the last several hours.

"Oh, God, Bruce," Harley mumbled raggedly, leaning forward to hug him tight. Bruce hugged her back even tighter, wrapping his arms solidly around her as he pulled her to his chest, stroking the back of her head to try to soothe her.

"I'm here," he murmured into her hair as Harley whimpered a little bit. Bruce sat with her rubbing her back and stroking her head as she clung to him, wishing desperately that he could erase the last twelve hours for her. But then, she'd still be stuck in the Joker's clutches, wouldn't she? He sighed, thinking how unfair the Universe could be sometimes as he cuddled her close.

Harley's breathing gradually slowed as they sat together in the dark, not speaking beyond Bruce's interspersed comforting murmurs. "How am I ever going to survive this?" Harley finally asked him brokenly, causing Bruce's heart to clench tight at her hopeless tone.

"It's just the first night, honey," he said to her encouragingly. "It'll get better," he promised, even though he really had no idea if it would.

"I ought to see a therapist," Harley said on an empty, bitter chuckle. "But there's nowhere I can go without Joker finding me."

"You don't need to say he's the one who did it to you," Bruce argued. "Don't they have to keep sessions confidential?"

"I guess," Harley said dispiritedly. "I mean, yes, technically. But therapy is all about being honest. I don't know… I don't even know how to talk about what happened without talking about Joker and what he did to me," she sighed. "It's all connected."

"Can you talk to me about it?" Bruce asked her. "I know I'm not a therapist, but you are. Would that help at all?" he asked her. Harley sighed.

"Maybe," she said doubtfully. "I don't know, Bruce. Trauma treatment is about managing flashbacks and triggers and containing memories for the first several phases in order to get stabilized. It can be years before you start to really process what happened," she said, starting to sound more like a psychologist, which Bruce thought was actually a hopeful sign.

"Can you read back up on how to do all that then?" Bruce asked her. "And do it on your own for the first part? You can talk to me about how you're working on it if you want." He was still rubbing her back as they talked and he finally felt Harley's tension start to ease.

"I guess I could," Harley said thoughtfully. "I mean, really, learning the skills and how to use them is the majority of the therapy work at first, and you're right, I do already know that and understand how to apply it. Hell," she laughed bitterly, "I used to teach patients at Arkham how to do it. Awful lot of trauma survivors in there," she said.

"You have a lot of parts in your brain, you said, right?" Bruce asked her.

"Yeah," Harley said. "Why?"

"Could the therapist one therapize the rest of them?" Bruce suggested. "Does it work that way? Like are they all divided into one job per part?"

"Oh," Harley said with more interest. "I don't know. Maybe. That's a really clever idea, Bruce," she said, sounding a little more alert and hopeful.

"I _am_ Batman," Bruce said with absolutely zero modesty, causing Harley to giggle.

"You know, I used to think that I had my parts all figured out," Harley said with a sigh. "I mean, you have to get a shit ton of therapy yourself to become a therapist. And I thought I had achieved integration, and laid all my past traumas to rest, and was completely ready to go forward therapizing other people." She made a disgusted sound.

"Hell, I even thought I'd be _better_ at it than other people because I had been through traumas of my own and worked through them. Goes to show where arrogance will get ya," she muttered sadly.

"You'll figure it out again," Bruce told her comfortingly. "If you did it once, you're halfway there." Harley laid her head back down on his chest and squeezed him with more of a caress than a panicked grip this time. She idly began tracing her own circles on his back with a few fingers as she held him.

"You are being so good to me," she told him. Bruce's grip on her had relaxed under her tender touch to what suddenly, to him, felt like a sensual embrace. He tensed at the realization.

"What?" Harley said to him, lifting her head back up. "What's wrong?"

"I… don't want to make you feel uncomfortable," Bruce said, acutely aware that he was holding a rape victim in his arms.

"I don't feel uncomfortable," Harley said. "Do you?" she said curiously, sensing that something was off.

"No. Maybe," Bruce said, embarrassed, which was in and of itself a novel sensation for him.

"Why?" Harley asked him gently. Bruce cursed mentally. His emotions towards Harley Quinn had been all over the map tonight and now, well, he didn't mind at _all_ the way the way holding her had felt; he just felt damn guilty about it. Plus, he didn't date. Not for real. Or fall in love. Or feel things. Anything. And how the hell do you date a rape victim, anyway, and not rush her but keep holding her and -

"Talk to me, Bruce," Harley said, removing a hand from his back to lay it on his stubbled cheek. Bruce heaved out a sigh as he reached up to hold her hand in his even though he slowly removed it from his face and laid it on his chest, under his.

"I don't know how to talk about this," he admitted.

"About what?" she prompted. Bruce huffed.

" _This_." He said unhelpfully. "Us. Feelings. What - I shouldn't be feeling -"

"What _are_ you feeling?" Harley asked him. Her voice had stayed so gentle and she was being so kind and dammit, she sounded more together, too, and in control - less helpless and terrified and -

"I like you," Bruce said softly. "A lot."

"What's wrong with that?" Harley said, and Bruce could hear the smile in her voice. He groaned.

"I don't _like_ people, Harley," he said to her. "I don't even have friends, really, besides Alfred. I don't date, I fuck. I don't care about people, I don't feel sorry for them, and I definitely don't fall in love with them."

"Are you falling in love with me?" Harley asked him.

"I don't know," Bruce muttered, intensely thankful that they were in the dark and he didn't have to look at Harley while he said it. "I shouldn't, it's so fuckin' inappropriate. You came to me for help, not to be drawn into another relationship, and you just got raped -"

"I'm falling in love with you, too," Harley said. Bruce stilled, stunned.

"Harley -" he said thickly.

"Just kiss me," she said. Bruce gently found her lips in the dark, being careful of her broken nose, and softly kissed her, more tenderly than he had ever kissed a woman in his life. Harley slid her other arm out from around his chest and wrapped both of them around his neck to hold him, kissing him back as sweetly as he was kissing her.

Before Bruce could even process what was happening, he was making out - but carefully, because of her injuries - with Harley Quinn. And frankly, it was more romantic and less sexual than any amount of face-sucking or fucking he'd ever done before and to his shock, he _liked_ it.

Bruce had _never_ felt protective of any of his past partners. Respectful, sure. But he tended to fuck strong women who took what they wanted and didn't need a hero. Nice and easy and emotion-free, just the way he wanted.

But Harley - and what she'd been through, and how utterly devoted to her it made him feel - God, he could spend the next year doing nothing but kissing her because what it was doing to his heart was entirely strange and new and amazing. Because holy fuck, he _cared_ about her, and Batman did not care. But apparently, he did, and Bruce Wayne did, too, and no wonder people got so ridiculously sappy about falling in love because this was insanely, addictively, incredibly, amazing.

Harley was thinking to herself that this was what love was supposed to feel like - not like what she'd had with Mistah J. And of _course_ it would be with Batman. She'd always liked him, honestly, deep down under her bubble-gum layer. There was something so sexy and _safe_ about him that called to her parts in distress even when she couldn't hear them crying.

Why had she instantly determined that she had to get to Bruce when her mind had slipped free tonight? She'd instinctively known that he'd protect her and she'd suspected that she'd probably love him for it, whether or not the feeling was returned. But him loving her, too? And being all alpha-male protective and fantastic beyond her wildest hopes?

Despite the fact that her life for the last however long she'd been with Joker had been absolute hell, and even though her mind was re-traumatized and her body was ripped to pieces, Harley felt so incredibly happy as she kissed Bruce in the dark.

When Bruce finally pulled back, his voice sounded awe-struck. "Harley," he said to her. "What the fuck have you done to me?" She giggled.

"Same thing you've done to me, I guess," she said happily. Bruce smiled to himself.

"I had no idea love felt like this," he admitted to her. "I probably wouldn't have stayed such a cranky bastard all this time if I'd ever once felt something like this for someone."

Harley sighed with contentment. "I've been in love before, like puppy love when I was younger, you know," she said to him. "And we're not even gonna talk about the insanity with Mistah J. But this, Bruce? This is completely different and so. much. better." she said.

"And, for the record, I _like_ your cranky bastard. A lot," she said sexily. "You're hot as hell when you're like that. And so romantic that you melt my heart when you're sweet like this. So never stop being both ways, ok?" she said.

"Ok," Bruce answered her, smiling.

"Will you sleep in here with me for the rest of the night?" Harley asked him.

"Of course, baby," Bruce said to her, giving her another kiss before unwrapping his arms from around her and standing up. "You should pee before you go back to sleep," he told her, picking her up from the bed. "Less chance of more nightmares."

"God, you're a protective, sexy hunk of a man," Harley said with satisfaction, making him laugh.

"Talking about peeing is sexy?" he asked her. "And not in the kink sense," he growled at her before she could even go there. Harley giggled.

"It _is_ sexy, though, because you're taking care of me and I love you for it. And I need it," she added wistfully.

"I will always take care of you," Bruce told her seriously.

"And I will take care of you, too," Harley promised him as he set her down by the toilet. "Because I think your heart needs a lot of tender, loving care, Bruce Batman Wayne," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

"You're not wrong," Bruce said honestly. "I'm kind of a fucked up mess." Harley giggled.

"Superman's gonna be so proud of you for getting into a relationship," she teased as he walked out the door to let her pee. Bruce groaned.

"God, he is, isn't he?" he said. "Dammit," he muttered to himself, but it was with a little laugh as he shut the door. Because even the thought of Clark seemed less bothersome when he was in love, he realized, and that realization made him groan even more at what was happening to him, except he wasn't really upset.

When he carried Harley back to bed a minute later, she got herself carefully arranged on her non-injured side. Bruce hesitated when he climbed in next to her. "I'm worried I'll hurt you in my sleep if I spoon you," he said to her, deciding finally to lay with his back to her but pressed up close.

"I'm happy as long as you're here, Bruce," Harley said tenderly, wiggling a little closer to him.

"I love you," Bruce said, getting it out for the first time.

"I love you, too," Harley told him, but then she giggled. "You have to kiss me now, you can't just say it for the first time and go to sleep with your back turned," she insisted. Bruce laughed but he turned and pushed himself up to lean over Harley's face and kiss her.

"I love you," he said one more time, his breath mixing with hers as he barely pulled away from her lips.

"I love you, too," Harley said back, sighing happily into one last kiss before Bruce reluctantly tore himself away to lay back down behind her.

When Harley fell asleep a little later on, pressed up close to Bruce, not a single nightmare haunted her for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Fanfiction writers are thirsty vampires and comments are our lifeblood. (But if you are mean, we will cut a bitch. Cuz we are vampires rawr) 
> 
> I have many happier Harley stories to check out, so please go give them a read! 
> 
> Red, White, and Harley & the sequel Red Knight Takes Queen's Bishop - an (adult) Jason Todd/Harley Quinn romance with Bruce v. Jason angst
> 
> My humor/romance series Harleen Quinzell Raises Hell (Yeah, it's 2 L's on purpose). - Harley's a psychotic psychologist right from the get-go and she knows what she wants and doesn't care what she does to get it. Lots of 60's TV villains make appearances. Ridiculosity ensues. 
> 
> If you want another heavy angst story with a protective Bruce, check out my story The First Cut Is the Deepest which is Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle
> 
> If you want another protective Bruce and don't mind a non-sexual but romantic underage relationship with a grieving Stephanie Brown, check out my story First Kiss.
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr as River9Noble. Come say hi!


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